


bring me home again

by nahmooste



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drabbles, Exploration, M/M, Snippets, are they brothers or lovers, free form, maybe something but possibly nothing, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:17:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6238390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahmooste/pseuds/nahmooste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are messy. Seth has burnt too many bridges and has gone too far to ever go back. Dean has lost himself so many times he doesn’t know what’s real or not. Roman is background noise. Somehow, things get messier. Seth hurts himself, Dean’s there to help him— and what? He doesn’t understand anything anymore.</p><p>"There are only two people in the world that love Dean. One is Roman. The other is Seth. He can’t know for sure that Seth loves him, but he's tried to stomp his head through cinderblocks to get rid of him, and if that’s not love than he doesn’t know what love is."</p><p>(first chapter/possible only chapter is a bunch of flashbacks and jumbled words)</p>
            </blockquote>





	bring me home again

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve always been completely captured by the chemistry and mechanics in Dean & Seth’s relationship, so i’m writing drabbles to satiate my need for ambrollins/ambrolleigns (both a bro-tp and an otp). this may be the only chapter that gets uploaded, but favourite/bookmark it just in case i have some extreme inspiration.
> 
> usually i write het oc/shield member stuff, but thought i'd give this a shot because why not? let me know how i go? (also i got told i had bad grammar on FFnet the other day- is it true?)

— **_Money in the Bank_ , 2014**

 

_Dean wasn’t supposed to land like that_.

 

He could hear it from where he was lying, could feel it when they both fell off that ladder, the moment his shoulder tore away from the socket.

 

Somehow, his black heart is tugging uncomfortably. He watches as they walk him out the back and he doesn’t even have time to gather himself before he’s being pushed to move again— but it doesn’t feel right. He had this _spot_ , this move with Ambrose, and now what? Is he just supposed to do it by himself?

 

Is Ambrose gonna be okay?

 

_Does it matter?_

 

( _Of course it matters._ )

  
Not like he can ever let anyone know that he cares. He doesn’t. _He doesn’t_. He can’t. Not anymore, anyway— Ambrose’ll kill him if he’s even in the same vicinity. So he doesn’t care. And he changes his face so that it looks like he’s beyond satisfied that Ambrose has been taken out of the equation (even though thousands of people had seen his concern).

 

When he wins, when Ambrose is under the ladder, he doesn’t look down.

 

He wants to.

 

_He wants to_. That’s gotta mean something, right?

 

(He doesn’t.)

 

— **_Hell In A Cell,_ 2014**

 

It’s like the dark in Seth’s heart has made _his_ heart black as well.

 

He feels it twist his soul in a dark way, this desperation inside of him, clawing and fighting to get out of him, and sometimes it comes across in the ways he watches Seth, sometimes it’s in the way he hits him.

 

The pranks are just a way for him to hide it. Because if he’s laughing and having a good time then everyone else is, as well, and he smiles when Roman does because it’s _Roman_ and Roman’s never smiling anymore. Maybe his heart is black, too. Probably not. He’s got family and more than two people who love him.

 

There are only two people in the world that love Dean. One is Roman. The other is Seth. 

 

He can’t know for sure that Seth loves him, but he tried to stomp his head through cinderblocks to get rid of him, and if that’s not love then he doesn’t know what love is.

 

_Kill what you love before what you love kills you._

 

He’s not a sadist. Or a masochist. But making Seth hurt satiates the black pit in his chest.

 

—

 

He thinks he’s angry mostly because now he has no one. There’s some part of him that will always love Seth, always, _unconditionally_ , but that part of him at the same time is filled with so much hate it’s like an opaque shadow over his heart. 

 

And he always hoped that the cameras and the thousands of people watching his every move wouldn’t pick up on the way his face twisted when he hit his (ex)best-friend with his own finisher, or the way his screams of anger ( _“I trusted you! You stabbed me in the back, you son of a bitch!”_ ) were really screams of a broken heart, but who was he kidding— they all knew, anyway. They could see it in his eyes every time Rollins took it one step too far with the truth ( _“We were just_ business _partners.”_ ).

 

Seth Rollins. Scum of the fucking earth, scum of _his life_ , and Dean still loves the bastard more than he loves himself. Just the same as he loves Roman.

 

But Roman’s off fighting his own battles, _one versus all_ , and he’s supposed to be _unhinged and on the fringe_ , but he’s not crazy. He’s _not_ crazy.

 

_He’s not crazy._

 

He’s just angry. 

 

And the best way to get this anger in his blood out is to put his fist in Seth’s face. Against Seth’s face. Knock his teeth out. Or down his throat, or rip his cold, black heart out and stomp it into the dirt like Seth had done to his heart all those months ago. If the fucker even had a heart. Probably not.

 

_He can’t even hold himself together without him_. Couldn’t remember the last time he got his hair cut or the last time he trimmed his sideburns or shaved his beard or wore anything else but those stupid fucking wife beaters and the leather jacket (that Seth got him in the first place). 

 

_Fuck_. 

 

Fucking useless. 

 

His head is a mess and he’s missing his brothers because they were all he had. They _are_ all he has. And he can’t lose them, no matter how fucking stupid they’re being, because he doesn’t know how to be _Dean_ without it being _DeanandSethandRoman_.

 

Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for Bray Wyatt to pick him off like he does.

 

But that’s okay.

 

Distractions are always better than dealing with the problem head-on, anyway.

 

— **_RAW_ , October 19th, 2015**

 

_How stupid had he been to expect something more?_

 

Dean shakes his head, purses his lips to try and stop the stinging in the backs of his eyes. _He won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing him cry._ He should have seen it coming, he should have _fucking_ seen it coming. But he’d believed that maybe, to Seth, _maybe_ winning a match was _more important_ than walking out on the men that used to be his brothers. 

 

Apparently not.

 

— **_TLC_ , 2015**

 

He’s been glued to the Network ever since his knee fucked him over.

 

And the TV every Monday and Thursday night. (He’d be lying if he said he didn’t read the spoilers up on Tuesday night.) 

 

Really— anything that has _anything_ to do with wrestling makes time go quicker and slower at the same time. He wants to be out there… but he appreciates this new way he can watch Ambrose without Ambrose watching him back with those burning blue eyes.

 

It doesn’t surprise him when Dean wins the Intercontinental Championship. About time that company gave him something instead of trying to take everything from him.

 

But he feels this _anger_ burning in his bones when Roman loses _his_ WWE World Heavyweight Championship. He would never say it out loud, _never_ , but he’d prefer the title hanging over the Samoan’s shoulder than being secured around Sheamus’ waist. Reigns would do a better job defending it and keeping it warm. (He isn’t biased at all.)

 

He feels such rage that he reaches for his phone and dials a number that he should have forgot the night he broke them.

 

Ambrose answers it like he would any other call. “‘ello?”

 

And Seth falters. Because it’s _Ambrose_. What the _fuck_ is he doing calling him?

 

His voice has strength he doesn’t. “Are you watching this?”

 

He can almost see Dean’s entire body freeze. Like how _dare_ Seth call him on _his_ night. There’s a sniff and the sound of shuffling, like he’s pulling a shirt on, and Seth blushes _furiously_ at the mental image— and then there’s the same noise in the background as the noise he’s watching. 

 

Because Roman has _snapped_.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Seth doesn’t reply for a long time. He’s not sure how to. 

 

But he watches the screen and they share this moment of time in silence. Watch as Triple H tries to talk a rabid Reigns down. It’s not gonna work because Seth can see that dark look swirling in his eyes and pulling at his face and he _knows_ that darkness because it’s the same kind that haunts his dreams.

 

There’s nothing more he wants to do than go down into that ring and help get that darkness out. Punch every single person in sight in the face because _he should have been champion months ago._

 

Almost like he knows _exactly_ how Seth feels, what Seth’s thinking, Ambrose mutters out a “yeah.”

 

They don’t say anything else.

 

(Seth wishes he’d had the courage to congratulate the lunatic on his win.)

 

—

**January, 2016**

 

A breath, a smell, a glance. 

 

The gym. _Sweat_ , puffing breaths. Falling victim to his exhaustion but coming back even when it’s too much. The harsh light of fluorescent globes pressing down against his skin and yet he always comes back. 

 

His sanctuary.

 

But it’s not something he feels alone.

 

A gust of wind from the open shed spills across his sweaty back and he feels like he’s standing on the edge of time, his head twisted over his shoulder, and he doesn’t need to look at Dean’s face to know that it’s him who just walked into the gym.

 

Brooding, strangely silent, but his back is turned and his body relaxed. He either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care, and Seth doesn’t know which is more disconcerting. 

 

_Why should he care?_

 

He burnt that bridge a long time ago. Burnt it twice, three times… he’s lost count.

 

Ambrose should be jumping down his throat, but he’s not.

 

_Why?_

 

And almost like the taller man can sense eyes on him, Dean turns. Blue locks on brown and Seth doesn’t move, keeps staring at him like it’s an open invitation to provoke him, to lead to another brawl which someone else will have to pull apart.

 

But Dean doesn’t move.

 

Seth’s unasked question hangs in the air. _Why?_

 

The two men turn their backs once more, yet the uneasy feeling in the almost empty room doesn’t dissipate. 

 

Seth is focused on the rings above him, yanking himself up and letting him fall, yank and fall, yank and fall, yank and fall, and his slows to a stop and pants like he’s run a marathon, but he just grits his teeth and pushes himself further— because if he’s not close to throwing up then he hasn’t done his job right.

 

He’s not even thinking about that.

 

The only thing he’s thinking about is Dean.


End file.
